


The Honeymoon Arrangement

by still_lycoris



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Past Charles/Erik, Past Violence, Sexuality Confusion, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, past trauma, working out their issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7155221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank McCoy has bagged the honeymoon trip of a lifetime. The trouble is, after his world imploded two weeks ago, he’s now desperately in need of a husband! Depressed ex-party boy Charles Xavier needs to get out of the country and away from painful family memories – fast. Accepting Hank’s honeymoon arrangement is the perfect escape plan! He might have to pretend to be a loved-up newlywed, but it’s a strictly no-strings agreement. Except one knee-weakening, brain-melting kiss from Hank later Charles’s already struggling to remember what’s fake and what’s real. And that’s before they’ve even started their ‘honeymoon’… !</p><p>OR Charles and Hank both have problems they want to get away from so why not get away from them with each other on a fake honeymoon? Only there are some things you can't run away from and some things you can only work through with others ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Honeymoon Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Unconventional Courtship](http://unconventionalcourtship.dreamwidth.org/) challenge, summary based on The Honeymoon Arrangement by Joss Wood.

**Minus Twenty Eight Days**.

Hank stared at the letter in his hand for at least the hundredth time and wondered if this time would be the time that he found it all a little funny.

It was the kind of bad luck that _could_ be funny. Always sitcom-esq really. To win tickets for a dream honeymoon, literally days after your girlfriend had left you.

No. He still wasn’t finding it funny. Not even slightly funny.

There was no point dwelling on what had happened, he knew that. Trish had probably been right to leave him. It wasn’t as though there was anything very special about him. He’d never been able to offer her anything very much. He wasn’t exactly special. He wasn’t exactly anything. He was just Hank McCoy and that was really a good enough reason for _anybody_ to leave him.

Ugh, self-pity. He tried to push that back too. There was no point feeling like this. Things simply happened and you had to get on with it. It was just … sad. Sad and annoying and _stupid_ to be holding something that could give him tickets that could take him away and let him relax – only because of the very reason he _wanted_ to get away, he couldn’t actually use them.

Still not funny. And now he was feeling angry too, a sudden burst of utter fury. It wasn’t _fair!_

He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment and focusing on his breathing. No need to be angry. No need to let that creep over him. It wouldn’t change anything, it wouldn’t do any good. He was calm and he didn’t get angry any more.

With a sigh, he shoved the letter into his pocket. Tonight, he’d write to the company and tell them that he wouldn’t be able to use the prize. At least they could give it to someone else. He could think of them being happy in France. Or Spain. Or whichever of the amazing holiday destinations they picked while he was at home, getting on with his normal life.

He’d been stupid to ever hope that something different would happen. He was Hank McCoy and everybody knew that all he’d ever be was his job.

Nothing different would ever happen to him.

*

Charles stared at the greying clouds and wondered if there was any possibility of getting back to the car before the rain began.

Probably not.

He sighed. Well, a soaking never did anyone any harm on the whole. He’d been caught out in the rain before without a jacket. Surely things hadn’t changed so much that it really mattered if he got a little bit wet on the way to the car?

With another sigh, he turned his chair and began to make his way back. Maybe he should have checked the weather before coming out but he liked coming to the park. It was usually quiet this time of day and he could watch the ducks and read and _not_ be at home.

Really, the last part was probably the best part. He was beginning to think that he wouldn’t mind if the house burned down. At least then he wouldn’t have to look at the same walls all the time. Better to be the weird cliché man who sat in a park than spend another day all day in his living room.

God, he wished he could get away for a while. Somewhere that wasn’t _here_ , somewhere warm and fun where he could just be himself and not have to keep focusing on all of the things that were wrong with his life. Not think about Raven or Erik or the accident. Just have some fun, live a little, do something _different_ …

But it wasn’t going to happen. He knew that. He was getting better and better at not thinking about things he couldn’t change. If he crammed them all to back of his mind, they mostly just lurked there in silence, only coming out at night – and night time thoughts could usually be cured with a few glasses of scotch.

A man hurried past him, probably not even noticing that Charles was there. Charles watched him, envying the easy ability to walk quickly – and because of that, he noticed when something dropped out of the man’s pocket.

“Hey,” Charles called; wheeling himself over to the paper and picking it up before it could blow away. “Hey! You dropped something!”

The guy turned round to look at him, blinking big eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses. He was what Charles always thought of as geek-style cute, although his anxious expression didn’t really emphasise any of his better qualities. Charles held out the paper, glancing at it as he did.

“Oh wow. Is this legit? Bet you’re glad to get it back!”

The man did not look like someone had just handed him back a free holiday. In fact, he looked thoroughly depressed, although he tried to smile as he took the letter back, smoothing it out nervously in his hands.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, not meeting Charles’s eyes.

Charles wasn’t sure what made him keep talking. He hadn’t really wanted to talk to anybody for a long time. Maybe it was the fact that it felt like forever since he’d talked to someone good looking. He found himself leaning back and smiling the slightly flirtatious smile that he hadn’t broken out in a while.

“So where will you go?”

The man looked even more miserable.

“Nowhere. My girlfriend broke up with me so I can’t go. I’m going to return it today.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles said, meaning it. “That’s really bad luck.”

The man tried to smile again.

“Yeah. Well. I guess worse things happen than not being able to take a holiday, right?”

Charles looked at the letter that the man was still holding. Worse things did indeed happen in life but it was still unfair. He betted this man would love to get away somewhere warm, somewhere fun on a paid holiday. He knew he would.

“Don’t you have somebody you could invite along instead?”

The man gave him a puzzled look.

“It’s a _honeymoon_ holiday,” he said, as though it had never for a single minute occurred to him that he could tell a little fib and keep the holiday. Charles thought it was rather sweet.

“So? They won’t know you’re not actually married. Who’s your best girl friend? Or better yet, who’s the prettiest girl that you know that you’ve always secretly wanted to ask out? This is your moment, I bet she’ll leap at the chance. Maybe something will happen between you, maybe it won’t but at least you’ll get to find out in France or Spain or Rome rather than around the coffee machine at work.”

The man was now blushing a really rather attractive shade of pink. He shook his head slightly, as though he couldn’t quite believe what Charles was saying.

“I, I c-couldn’t, I … b-besides, I don’t really know anybody, there’s not … I haven’t … I couldn’t.”

It was a stupid, crazy, impulsive bit of madness that came to Charles’s brain then. A stupid, crazy idea that reminded him of the person he’d once been; a man who had always done things impetuously because they might be fun. Perhaps that was why he didn’t question it and just went with it. Recapturing something that he’d begun to feel was lost entirely.

“Take me then.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Take me,” Charles said, grinning up at the completely baffled face. “I’ll be your fake husband. It’ll be amazing. We both get a holiday somewhere amazing. Maybe you’ll meet a gorgeous lady out there who’ll help you forget your ex and hey, even if you don’t, who cares because you’ll have had two weeks away.”

“But … but I can’t. It wouldn’t … we’re not married!”

“So what? Why should you miss out on a free holiday just because of that? They’re not going to know, are they? They’ve given it to you now. Does it ask to see proof?”

“I … no … ”

“So write back and tell them you are married to one Charles Xavier and you’ll need a room with wheelchair access.”

“It’s crazy,” the man said but Charles detected an air of wistfulness in the tone. He betted this guy had never done anything impulsive in his life, let alone something that was perhaps a little illegal. Nobody had ever tried to lead him astray. He’d probably had a nice but boring girlfriend and never put a toe on the wild side of anything.

Charles could fix that.

“Two weeks away,” he said, temptingly. “You can pick the holiday, I don’t mind where we go. I’ll cover any expenses they don’t, since I’m the free-loader. We can even stage a dramatic first night fight if you want so everybody knows you’re young and free and unattached. Whatever suits you best.”

The man licked his lips slightly, staring at the paper in his hand. Charles could practically see him wavering.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer,” he said lightly. “Although if I were you could probably out-run me …” 

The man laughed and Charles grinned back.

“What’s your name?”

“Hank. Hank McCoy.”

“Well, Hank McCoy, how about it?”

Hank McCoy bit his lip. Charles tried not to look too desperate. He felt so close to getting away from everything, to doing something _new_ and _exciting_ and if it was snatched away …

“Y-yes. All right,” Hank blurted, looking as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. “Let’s … let’s go away together.”

Charles beamed. He knew he was beaming and he didn’t care. For two weeks, he would be away from _everything_. Away from the walls and the silence and the letters and the guilt.

“Brilliant,” he said, meaning it. He held out his hand. “Shall we shake on it, fake husband?”

Hank McCoy took his hand. Charles noticed vaguely that he had a good grip.

“This is still mad,” Hank said, sounding slightly stunned now.

“Maybe,” Charles said. “But life might as well be mad in another country rather than here! Do you already know where you want to spirit me away to?”

“I … how would you feel about France?”

“Couldn’t have picked it better myself,” Charles said flippantly. He didn’t really care where they went anyway. As long as it was somewhere far, far away from here.

*

**Minus One Day**

Hank wondered if he’d gone very slightly bonkers.

He was going on holiday. In a sense, he was going on holiday _illegally_ since he was supposed to be married to the partner that he was taking a long with him and he and Charles Xavier had only met twice since their chance meeting in the park. He was going on holiday illegally with a man he barely knew.

Charles Xavier didn’t seem worried by any of this though. Charles Xavier didn’t seem worried by anything much.

Hank had never met anybody quite like Charles before. He was so … _confident_. His smile was so easy and he seemed supremely unconcerned by all the things that had worried Hank about this trip. The fact that they didn’t even know each other didn’t seem to bother him either.

“I’m sure we’ll get along,” he said with a casual flap of his hand.

Hank wasn’t quite so sure of this. He’d done a little Googling, of course but there wasn’t very much about Charles Xavier out there. If he had any social media sites, they were clearly set to private – which made sense, Hank valued his own privacy too. But it still meant that he was going on a holiday with a man that he simply didn’t know.

A man that he was going to have to pretend to be married to.

Hank was trying not to think about that detail too much. Charles had brushed it off, said that people weren’t exactly going to be looking. As long as they held hands and were seen together, that was all that would be all that was necessary. Hank supposed he was right but it was still … strange. Strange in a way that Hank didn’t want to think about very much.

Still, as Charles said, it wouldn’t matter very much. And it would be worth it. It really, really would be worth it. To get away, to be somewhere warm and different … and France was a wonderful country. Hank had been looking up all the museums and art galleries where they were staying and making little notes about where he wanted to go.

He’d made notes about their accessibility too. Just in case Charles would want to come with him. It wasn’t impossible. Maybe Charles liked museums and … well, if he did, Hank wouldn’t want him not to be able to see them.

Hank was nervous about the wheelchair and ashamed of that nervousness. Wheelchairs were perfectly normal and there was no need to see them as something different but … he’d never actually spent time around someone in one before. What if he made some terrible mistake, somehow hurt Charles or hurt his feelings?

That would have annoyed Trish. In the last months, she’d become less and less patient with his “what-ifs.”

_“What if the world gets hit by a meteor tomorrow? Who cares if you accidentally hurt somebody’s feelings, you just have to get on with it!”_

But he’d never been very good at that. He just wanted life to be easy, to be calm. Hurting people was … well. Not conducive to that. And if you upset people, sometimes they got angry and if people were shouting at you, you might end up shouting back and then …

Still, since he and Charles hardly knew each other, perhaps it didn’t even matter. They’d only have to cope with two weeks of each other and they’d probably never see each other again afterwards. They were going to have an adventure together … or at least, the closest to an adventure that Hank was ever going to get to.

They had decided to meet at Charles’s house and go to the airport together. Hank thought it would be strange to arrive separately, given that they were supposed to be married and Charles had agreed quite cheerfully.

Hank had not expected Charles’s house to be so … big.

“You _live_ here?”

“Yes,” Charles said with a wave of his hand, as though trying to brush off the fact that his house was double the size of most of the ones that Hank knew.

“On your _own?_ ”

For a second, Charles’s easy smile seemed to falter.

“Yes. Someone comes in to clean it but I’m usually out then. Now, _darling_ , would you be so good as to carry my case? It looks better than putting it on my lap.”

Hank blushed at being called “darling” and Charles laughed.

“Oh Hank, you’re going to have to get used to that, I call people darling when I’ve only just met them so it would be a little strange if I didn’t call my husband the same thing!”

“You don’t really, do you?”

“Hmm, sometimes. When I’ve had a drink. Come on, we’d better get going or we’ll be late and I bet you hate being late, don’t you?”

“I do,” Hank said and then, a little defensively. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all,” Charles said, grinning.

Hank felt like he was being teased. Normally, he hated being teased, it made him feel stupid but there was something about Charles’s smile that made him feel like it wasn’t quite so bad. He found that he was rather liking Charles, despite not knowing him very well. He hoped it would last. It would be nice to have a holiday with someone that he actually liked.

The airport was crowded, unsurprisingly. Hank found himself watching Charles with some concern, noticing that Charles didn’t look entirely happy with the crowds. He positioned himself on Charles’s side, not too close but positioned so that he could deflect people a little. It seemed better and he had a feeling Charles had relaxed slightly after that. 

“I think I might see if I can get us upgraded to first class. Ever flown first class, Hank?”

“I’ve never flown at all,” Hank confessed. “I’m not a traveller.”

“Oh Hank, you haven’t lived. Travelling is one of the greatest things in the world.”

Hank made a small noise that could be agreement but inwardly felt irritated. He hated people telling him that. He was pretty certain that you could live just fine without ever actually leaving your home town, let alone without visiting other countries. Travelling was probably _nice_ , sure, but you didn’t _have_ to do it. Still, it didn’t seem worth arguing with Charles about something so silly, not right now. And now he _was_ travelling so he’d soon see what all the fuss was about.

“Ah,” Charles said and he sounded very odd. When Hank looked down at him, he saw that Charles had gone slightly pale. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I … nothing. Hank, I’m sorry about this but I’m going to need you to kiss me.”

“I … you’re going to need _what?_ ”

“No time to explain. Please. Bend down.”

Completely bewildered and almost without thinking, Hank bent down. He realised almost instantly that he was at an awkward angle and that his back was going to start aching quickly but Charles gave him no time to change position. He leaned up, put his hands on Hank’s cheeks and then pressed their mouths together.

His lips were … soft. Soft and surprisingly warm. Then his tongue scraped over Hank’s lip and Hank felt a strange jolt run through him. He opened his mouth almost without meaning to and shuddered when Charles deepened the kiss, fingers lightly massaging the back of Hank’s neck.

Someone coughed and Charles broke the kiss at once.

“Raven! What a lovely surprise!”

Hank turned and found himself staring at a beautiful blonde woman. She was smiling at them and stepped forward to take Charles’s hand.

“I wasn’t going to let my big brother go off with someone I hadn’t met!”

“Now Raven, I’m a grown up. I can go off with anybody I like. What if meeting my mad little sister puts him off?”

“Then he isn’t worthy of you, of course!”

Hank watched them, feeling strange. Even through the lingering shock of the kiss, he could tell there was something not quite right here somehow, something … they were _too_ cheerful, too enthusiastic about seeing each other. As though there was something else there, something that was stopping them from _really_ being pleased.

“I’m Raven,” Charles’s sister said, offering her hand. “This is Erik.”

Hank almost hadn’t noticed the other man. He was standing behind Raven, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, expression cold. He nodded at Hank but made no move to step forward.

“Hello Erik,” Charles said and his voice was decidedly guarded now.

“Charles,” Erik said and gave a stiff nod.

“It’s really nice to meet you both,” Hank said quickly because he wasn’t sure he could stand any more of this. “I’m Hank McCoy.”

“It’s good to meet you, Hank McCoy,” Raven said, smiling at him. “Really good. I hope my brother doesn’t drive you mad!”

“He, he won’t,” Hank said awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what Charles had told these people. Obviously they thought Charles and Hank were … together but did they think they were _married?_ Surely Charles wouldn’t have said that, it would be ridiculous since they would demonstrably _not_ be married at the end of the holiday.

“I hope so,” Raven said. Her face softened slightly. “I’m glad you’re going, Charles. It’s … good to see you doing something … ”

“It’s fine,” Charles said and there was a definite waspish tone to his voice now. “Really Raven, please don’t go on about it.”

Raven swallowed and there was an uncomfortable silence. Hank wished desperately that he was almost anywhere else. He hadn’t even known Charles had a sister and now he was trying to find a way to talk to her which didn’t make it clear that this was only the third time he and Charles had even been in the same place. 

“We should go,” Erik said abruptly. “We just came to see you off and meet your boyfriend.”

Hank wondered if his face was as red as it felt. Given the way Erik was looking at him, it probably was. He tried not to imagine what Erik was thinking about him. 

Raven kissed Charles’s cheek, her expression anxious. 

“Send me a postcard?”

“I’ll think about it,” Charles said lightly. “If I’m not too busy having a magnificent time!”

Raven laughed. She looked at Hank and Hank forced himself to smile in what he hoped was a friendly way.

“I’ll remind him.”

“Thank you,” Raven said. “I look forward to meeting you properly when you both get back. You can come round for a meal.”

Hank looked at Erik again. Erik’s jaw twitched very slightly but that was all. Hank looked away quickly. God, he hoped this would be over quickly …

Mercifully, it was. Raven squeezed Charles’s hand one last time and then she and Erik walked away. Charles pressed his hands to his face for a moment and Hank saw his shoulders shake, very slightly.

“Are … you okay?”

“Fine,” Charles said briskly. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realise they’d come. I had to tell her that I was going but I didn’t think she’d appear out of nowhere.”

“I … it’s fine,” Hank said. “She’s your sister?”

“My younger sister,” Charles said. “She’s … she’s a good person. Very caring.”

He said it very stiffly and Hank knew better than to say anything else. He just nodded his head and made an uncommitted noise to show that he understood. Charles didn’t try to say anything else. His expression was unreadable now and Hank wished he could think of some way to fix the awkwardness.

Charles perked up a little when he successfully managed to upgrade them to first class. Hank found that some of his discomfort faded when he saw how first class looked. He’d heard a lot about how uncomfortable flying was and how nice first class was – and it seemed like people were quite correct about that.

“I hope you weren’t too upset,” Charles said suddenly as they prepared themselves for take off.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Hank said quickly. “I’m not surprised your sister wanted to check on you, it’s not a problem.”

Charles gave him an odd look.

“I meant about the kiss.”

Hank had been trying not to think too hard about the kiss. The discomfort at meeting Raven and Erik had been a good distraction but now Charles had mentioned it again, it was suddenly at the front of his mind. The way Charles’s lips had felt against his, his fingers on the back of Hank’s neck …

It had been … nice.

Hank wasn’t sure that he wanted it to have been nice.

“It’s all right,” he said because he knew that he should. Charles nodded and turned away from him, apparently feeling that they’d sorted everything out and that none of it mattered any more.

Hank hoped that was true.

*

Charles wondered exactly how much he could get away with drinking on the plane.

Generally speaking, people tended to let you drink quite a bit but if they thought he was drinking purely to get drunk, they might be a little more leery. That and the fact that he hadn’t actually drunk around Hank before and his companion was already looking a little uncertain at the fact that Charles was on his third glass of wine.

Typical. He was going on a fake honeymoon with someone puritanical.

He took another sip of the drink and closed his eyes. Damn Raven. Why couldn’t she have just left well enough alone? He’d told her he was fine, he’d told her that he didn’t need any help so why had she felt the urge to come and see him off? And why, why had she bought _Erik?_

Well, she would always bring Erik. Of course. Because Erik was her boyfriend. More than that really. If it weren’t for him, Erik and Raven would probably be engaged by now. Where Raven was, Erik would likely be too, now. Forever.

He drained the rest of his glass and put it down, furious that his hand was shaking. Stupid. He was stupid. He should be over this, he should be _fine_ now, this was all done and over and God, why didn’t things just fade away?

Some things didn’t, of course. Some things never faded, no matter how much you wanted them to.

He needed not to get hung up on this. He should focus on the fact that he was going away. That he wouldn’t have to even _think_ about Raven and Erik for two weeks. That he could enjoy some sun and some French food and some museums. No, it wouldn’t be the same as some of his other holidays but it would be better than being at home.

And he _had_ got a kiss out of it.

He couldn’t help glancing at Hank, who was now deep in a book and lost to the world. He had expected Hank to go completely rigid but instead, Hank had proved rather pleasant to kiss. He’d certainly responded to it. Perhaps Hank wasn’t quite as straight as Charles had supposed.

Not that it made much difference. It wasn’t really as though Charles could make any moves, not now. But it had been his first kiss in a long time and it had been … enjoyable. That was certainly better than nothing.

He glanced at Hank again. Hank was idly biting his lower lip as he read, totally focussed. Charles found himself grinning. He leaned over a little to peer at the text.

“Good Lord, is that your idea of holiday reading?”

Hank blinked at him, several rapid blinks that really were quite adorable.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“ _Look_ at it, Hank. It’s a book about physics! It’s not even a pop book about physics, it’s the kind of book about physics that gets published for six people in the world to read until somebody rewrites it with smaller words. Holiday reading is supposed to be fun! Usually filled with unlikely romances with rich doctors!”

“I like physics,” Hank said mildly.

“So do I. Doesn’t mean you should be reading it on a plane to your dream holiday, does it? I can see you need my help to learn how to relax and luckily, I am willing to give it. Now put that down, plug in your headphones and watch something trashy.”

Hank had blushed pink again. Charles grinned at him and nudged him gently. 

“Go on. I won’t tell anybody.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Hank grumbled, closing his book. “Are you going to be like this all holiday?”

“Yes,” Charles said. “That’s my charm.”

“I’m already thinking about getting divorced.”

Charles considered pointing out that they’d have to get married first but one of the stewards was passing so he didn’t. They’d agreed not to talk about their fake arrangement, just in case anybody overheard and attempted to ruin their holiday. Unless one of them met somebody, of course. Which Charles was sure wouldn’t happen to him – and probably wouldn’t happen to Hank if he stayed this shy.

Perhaps Charles ought to try and set Hank up with somebody. He’d been fairly good at that in his time. Not always permanent arrangements, true, but maybe Hank didn’t need a permanent arrangement to get over the lady that had dumped him.

Charles smiled. He had always rather liked a project. 

*

**Day One**

Hank tried not to look too excited when they arrived in France.

It was stupid to be so thrilled – abroad didn’t exactly look all that different from home – and yet somehow, he was. He was on holiday in France and maybe it wasn’t the most exotic locale in the world and maybe he was pretending to be married to be there but he found that he didn’t care about either of these things.

However, Charles seemed quite happy too. He was grinning almost as much as Hank wanted to and making cheerful comments. He seemed pleased by everything around them and had obviously slept off all the wine that he’d drunk.

Maybe it wasn’t so much wine. Hank wasn’t sure. It seemed a lot to him. But Charles hadn’t seemed too worried by it all but then Charles wouldn’t, would he?

But he didn’t intend to spend too much time thinking about that. Not when he could admire the glorious hotel in front of them. 

It wasn’t quite perfect, of course. Hank would have been more interested in staying in a more authentic French hotel and this hotel was definitely for the tourists. But it was a _beautiful_ hotel for the tourists and he knew that he would be extremely comfortable staying here.

Charles reached up and took his hand as they entered and Hank fought not to blush. Charles was quite right, of course – they needed to look like a couple here more than anywhere else. It was strange though, being so demonstrative. He hadn’t really liked holding Trish’s hand in public, he always felt it made people look at them – another thing that Trish had cited with frustration in the last days of their relationship.

What would she think if she could see him now?

He pushed her out of his mind. Right now, he needed to focus on what was happening here. They were greeted with enthusiasm and congratulations, praise on their marriage. Hank tried not to feel too guilty. It didn’t _really_ matter that they weren’t married, did it? Obviously, an actual married couple would find all this very special but the holiday would be special anyway, wouldn’t it? So it wasn’t a _very_ bad lie …

Charles didn’t seem even slightly worried or even embarrassed by the attention. He thanked everyone with warmth and charm and talked flippantly about how happy he was. Hank wondered if he ought to be glad or uneasy that he was “married” to someone who was such a good liar.

Then he wondered if he was being unfair. After all, he’d agreed to this. It wasn’t such a big, bad lie. There was nothing wrong with the occasional lie anyway.

The wonderings suddenly fled from his mind when they were shown to their honeymoon suite. Stupidly, it had never quite occurred to him to think about what it actually _meant_ to be on a honeymoon holiday. Stupidly, he had somehow not taken into account that it would involve sharing a bed.

It was a very big bed. Very comfortable looking. But it was still a double bed. Still a double bed that he would have to share with someone that he hardly knew …

“Oh, this is the life,” Charles said. He sounded thoroughly delighted with the place. “And I’m quite impressed that they’ve managed to make it so nice without any nuisance steps anywhere, very good. Hmm, bathtub with bubble jets as well as a shower, you may never see me again – are you overwhelmed with joy or having a panic attack?”

“Um,” Hank said, cross that he was blushing _again_. Charles must think him a fool. “I’m sorry, I just was thinking about the, the sleeping arrangements.”

“Oh? Oh. Don’t worry about that, the bed is huge, we won’t even have to touch and we can always ask for an extra blanket or two if you’re a cover-hog. I assure you, _I_ am a generous cover-sharer. And if you’re afraid you might reveal that you’re a cuddly sleeper, we can always build a little wall with pillows!”

Hank couldn’t help laughing at Charles’s cheerful words. Charles grinned back.

“Don’t worry, Hank,” he said. “This is going to be wonderful. Don’t let the little things bother you.”

“You don’t seem to let anything bother you,” Hank said. “It’s … how do you do that?”

Charles’s bright eyes seemed to shutter for a moment. When he smiled next, it was a strange smile but his tone was perky.

“Oh, many years of practise and self-denial! I’ll work on you, don’t you worry. By the end of his holiday, I will have introduced you to different ways of having fun and you can decide what you like best.”

“I’m not very good at having fun,” Hank said, meaning it. He knew how to have fun in _his_ way – reading books and doing experiments and watching documentaries about subjects that fascinated him. But when other people talked about fun, somehow they were never discussing that. They were talking about drinking and parties and dancing. He just wasn’t that kind of person.

“Rubbish,” Charles said. “Everyone is good at having fun, it’s just a matter of finding what pleases you. And holidays are a time to let your hair down and relax. You’ll have a good time, Hank. It’s our honeymoon, you have to.”

“Fake honeymoon,” Hank said.

“All the more reason for this to be your moment doing something totally different,” Charles said. “Nobody knows us here. We’re already living a different experience. Why not relish it?”

“I’m not always good at that either.”

“Do you always look for negatives?” Charles asked. He didn’t sound annoyed or judgemental, more curious.

“Maybe,” Hank admitted, looking away. It was slightly strange, having someone looking at him, being curious about him. He supposed Trish had been like this once but it had been a long time ago. They knew each other, they didn’t need to ask questions, didn’t need to probe at each other. How long had it been since someone had been involved with him like that? How long had it been since someone had really wanted to get to know him?

“I was never like that at your age.”

It didn’t sound judgemental, more thoughtful, as though Charles was expecting something. Hank wasn’t sure if he ought to be a little offended at the “at your age” – did Charles really think he was so much older? There was eight years between them, it wasn’t exactly ancient wisdom.

“What were you like?” he asked.

“Oh, I was a party boy,” Charles said with a laugh. “Drinking, dancing … I did all the things that you probably find silly and dull.”

Hank could imagine that. Charles’s easy charm, his flirty manner … he’d probably had a wonderful time and a lot of people had probably had a wonderful time with him.

“Not any more though,” Charles added carelessly. “My partying days are over.”

Hank wondered if it would be rude to ask why. Just because Charles was older now? Or was it the wheelchair? The comment about dancing faintly suggested to Hank that perhaps Charles hadn’t always been in a wheelchair but they hadn’t ever actually talked about that and he felt awkward asking. It might be rude and he didn’t want to be rude.

“You know, we should unpack,” Charles said. “I will admit, I have occasionally lived out of a suitcase on holidays but it doesn’t seem a good idea because I just _know_ you like everything in its place and that would look strange to anybody cleaning the room.”

“What do you think they’d do? If they work out we’re not married?”

Charles shrugged, putting his suitcase on the bed so he could open it.

“No idea. Depends how annoying they are. They are working with the competition though so I think we should assume that they wouldn’t entirely like it. So try not to fall for any sexy ladies in this hotel please!”

“I’m not going to fall for any sexy ladies,” Hank said, rolling his eyes and getting his own suitcase. “You have to stop saying that.”

“Who says you’re not? Holiday romances are a classic cliché that you might want to embrace.”

Hank rolled his eyes again and got on with his unpacking. Charles might be fun and might have knowledge about parts of life Hank didn’t but he still didn’t know Hank. Hank didn’t do quick romances. He liked to get to know a person, he wanted a friend before he wanted a lover. Which didn’t mean he didn’t want lovers but it wasn’t something he could ever enter into easily. He didn’t want to hurt anybody. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

Someone like Charles wouldn’t understand that though. Charles would never have had to worry about that. He was clever and funny and beautiful …

He swallowed, smoothed his shirts carefully. It was silly to think of Charles like that. Obviously, Charles _was_ beautiful but it was never a good idea to think of men like that. People got ideas about you, they said things …

Charles wouldn’t say things though. Charles would have no right. Charles had kissed _him_ , not the other way around.

“So, just how exacting is our itinerary?”

He jumped, turned to look at Charles, who was grinning again.

“Don’t lie and pretend you haven’t written one out. Let’s get a look at it, see what you have in store for me and maybe work on it a bit if it’s _too_ terrifyingly organised! I hope there’s a bit for lying on sun loungers somewhere in there … ”

“No,” Hank said, keeping his face straight as he handed his bit of paper over. “I’ve included reading time though.”

“Seriously?”

“No.”

He laughed as Charles did and realised that he felt rather good about that. 

It was nice to laugh with somebody.

It was nice to be close to somebody.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

*

 **Day Seven**.

Charles was not surprised to discover that Hank’s “itinerary” was fairly heavy on museums and art galleries and interesting churches and monuments.

What he _was_ surprised to discover was just how pleased he himself as at the prospect of visiting these places.

It hadn’t quite hit him just how little he’d been doing since the accident. It hadn’t felt like he was doing nothing – rounds of doctor’s appointments and counselling and trying to deal with the sapping exhaustion that had plagued him for so long. He’d read, of course, but even that had been almost nothing compared to the way he’d once devoured books. Now he was actually attempting to do something again, it made him realise just how long it had been since he’d done anything much but just … sit.

He didn’t want to think about it too much. It made him feel grey and lost in the way that he loathed more than anything else. He could cope with pain, he could cope with anger, he could even cope with sadness but coping with _nothing_ … that was when there was no other choice but to find something alcoholic and drink and drink.

The other thing that had hadn’t expected was just how difficult it was to fake intimacy with someone.

Oh, he was perfectly fine at the _process_ of it – it was easy to lean a little closer to Hank when they talked than he did with anybody else, easy to smile and watch when Hank moved away from him as though there was nobody else in the world, easy to reach out and idly find Hank’s fingers when they were together. Easy too to respond to Hank’s own overtures; his solicitude about Charles’s welfare, the way he would idly pet the hair on the back of Charles’s neck when he was standing next to the wheelchair. But after only a day of it, he found that he was looking forward to those idle touches, that close contact. That it pleased him to slip his hand into Hank’s and stroke his thumb over Hank’s knuckles. That eating with Hank, smiling at him, talking with him felt all too much like a date. And as for Hank’s fingers lazily playing on the back of his neck …

Nobody had touched him like that since the accident. He had thought he hadn’t wanted them to but now he was suddenly remembering how good it had been to be touched and it was almost painful to remind himself that this was fake. That Hank had no interest in petting him, it was simply what Hank felt he had to do to make sure that their holiday wasn’t spoiled by people who might think they weren’t actually married.

He was a fool for letting himself get remotely attracted.

Luckily, it quickly became clear to him that Hank wasn’t going to suspect at all. Hank was clearly utterly oblivious to the idea that someone might be attracted to him. Charles was beginning to count the amount of disappointed faces he saw on people who realised that Hank was “married” or that Hank just apparently wasn’t interested. They’d been in France for a week and it was already in double figures. Hank hadn’t noticed a single one.

“Don’t tease me, Charles. I don’t like it.”

“I’m not teasing you. She and her friend were both looking at you.”

“Probably thinking ‘oh, what a gangly geek.’”

“No, Hank, they’re thinking ‘I’d like to climb on that and ride it like a horse.’”

Hank turned brilliant red, mumbled something incoherent and moved away under some faked pretext. Charles rolled his eyes. Why Hank couldn’t imagine a world where people might think he was good looking was beyond him. Hank was obviously a lovely man and everybody else could tell – just not Hank. 

Raven would have understood, he supposed. It had taken Raven years to be convinced that she might have a nice face. No matter what Charles had said, she’d always been doubtful, sure that really, she wasn’t good enough. Charles had hated seeing her that way, had never known how to help. Indeed, a lot of the time his well-intentioned words had only made things worse in Raven’s mind.

Then Erik had come along.

His stomach twisted as it always did when he thought about Erik. No. No, not here. He didn’t have to think about them here.

“Hank, I’m bored, I’m going to roll off and leave you behind.”

“Yeah, you do that Charles but I’m pretty sure I can outrun you.”

“Ah, but you have reckoned without the slope!”

That was something else he had never expected. The fact that the hated, hated wheelchair could almost become a joke, something to be amused by, rather than something that he wanted to pretend didn’t exist. Something he could be playful about.

It was a surprisingly nice feeling.

“Do you think it would be like a cartoon?” Hank asked, reaching his side easily. “You’d just sort of keep rolling until you slammed into a wall?”

“No, I’d probably fall out,” Charles said regretfully. “I’m not sure which would be more embarrassing really, we probably shouldn’t experiment.”

Hank gave him one of his lovely, shy little smiles and Charles grinned back at him. 

“Have you planned a restaurant for us tonight?” he asked as they began to move together. Hank seemed determined to visit every strange, out-of-the-way eating place in France and Charles had to admit, he was enjoying it.

“Yes,” Hank said eagerly. “It’s a little place, one of the women in the hotel recommended it to me. Apparently, it’s really wonderful.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Charles said easily. He caught hold of Hank’s hand, stroking his thumb across the knuckles. Hank squeezed, just a little and smiled again.

_It’s a game. It’s all a game. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter what more you’d like it to be. It’s all a game._

But oh, when Hank looked at him like that, he wanted it to be real.

They went back to the hotel before going out for their meal. Hank took a shower while Charles sat and tried to write a postcard to Raven, as promised. As usual, he couldn’t think of anything to say. “Wish you were here (only of course I don’t), I’m getting a crush on the man you think I’m dating anyway because it was easier to tell you that rather than the truth and it’s doomed to fail, like everything else.” Yeah, that would go down well.

He settled for simplicity. “I hope you and Erik are well. It’s wonderful here, having a fabulous time, will tell you everything when I get back, Love Charles.”

Hank looked at the postcard when he came out of the bathroom. He raised one eyebrow, very slightly, but Charles couldn’t help noticing.

“What’s that about?”

“Nothing!” Hank said quickly. “Although … it’s a bit short, isn’t it?”

“It’s a postcard. They _should_ be short. That’s the point,”

“Yes but there’s quite a lot of space really. You could have written a bit more about what we’ve been doing, surely?”

Charles scowled. He didn’t see why Hank should question this. What did it matter to Hank if he didn’t write Raven a single word?

“Well, I didn’t,” he said, shortly.

“Hm,” Hank said, putting the postcard down again. He twisted his fingers together and then said in light, breezy tones that Charles knew and hated from others. “You … do you and your sister get along?”

“We get along fine,” Charles said, aware that his voice sounded cold and not caring. “Perfectly fine.”

“Oh. That’s good. I’m glad,” Hank said, his voice going slightly high-pitched. Obviously he was aware that he was trespassing and was frightened that he had overstepped the mark too deeply. “Very good. Should, should we post this on the way?”

“If you like,” Charles said with a small shrug, trying to soften his tone. There was no point upsetting Hank with the stories of his and Raven’s fraught relationship. “Raven will be glad to get it.”

Hank smiled at him but it wasn’t his usual sweet smile. It was an uncertain smile, the smile of someone who wasn’t sure if they’d just caused a rift and didn’t know what to do if they had.

Charles didn’t know what to say. Effusive reassurances might comfort Hank but Charles wasn’t really in the mood for them. He felt out-of-sorts and annoyed by the whole event. It wasn’t Hank’s fault, he knew that, not really. Hank couldn’t possibly be expected to know all the baggage involved. But at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling that Hank could have kept his nose out of the whole thing.

By the time they reached the restaurant, he knew that he would be drinking heavily that night. His mind was working too quickly and he wanted it slow, he wanted _quiet_.

Damn what Hank might want.

*

Hank knew that he shouldn’t let Charles’s odd mood spoil his meal but he couldn’t seem to help it.

Trish would have rolled her eyes at him. He was sure that originally, she hadn’t minded but at some point, she’d begun to find his conciliatory ways aggravating. Hank didn’t know why. Weren’t things better when you were always kind to each other?

Maybe Charles felt the same. His bad mood had clearly not lessened by their arrival at the restaurant, or the amount of wine that he’d drunk. He wasn’t exactly snapping at Hank but it was obvious that he had very little interest in talking or laughing about anything.

Hank didn’t know what to do and he _hated_ it. Sitting with Charles in front of him made him realise just how much he disliked that coldness. He would almost rather Charles had been clearly angry, at least then he could have apologised again or left or done _something_. But seeing Charles sitting there, aloof and cool made Hank utterly miserable and he didn’t know how to cope with it.

But he couldn’t talk to Charles about it. What would be the point? So far, he’d ignored all of Hank’s attempts to gently bring him into a better state of mind and now Hank was feeling demoralised and depressed.

In an attempt to distract himself, he started people-watching. It was a busy place and Hank got the feeling it was mixed with tourists and locals alike. They certainly weren’t the only couple – but to Hank’s slight surprise, they also weren’t the only couple that comprised of two men.

He found his eyes moving over to them slightly more than the other people. They were chatting together very happily in low voices and sometimes leaning close towards each other. As Hank watched, he saw them touch hands briefly. Probably not just friends then. 

“Have you ever wondered about it?”

Charles’s voice made him jump. He’d almost forgotten the other man was there. Turning, he saw that Charles was playing with his glass, swirling the liquid within as he watched Hank. Hank knew he was blushing and wondered almost angrily why he always had to blush like an idiot.

“W-wondered about what?”

Charles inclined his head very slightly towards the couple.

“That.”

“I … I don’t know what you mean,” Hank said.

Charles gave a soft snort and put his glass down before leaning forward, his eyes capturing Hank’s as they did. They really were an extraordinary shade of blue, Hank found himself thinking. So very bright.

“That,” Charles repeated softly. “Being with another man.”

Hank could feel his cheeks getting hotter. He tried to drag his eyes away from Charles’s, staring at the table instead.

“W-why would I … I’m not … I mean, I …” 

“It’s quite natural to wonder,” Charles said. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I’m … straight.”

The word felt uncomfortable in his mouth and he stumbled over it. Charles didn’t seem to notice.

“So? Doesn’t mean you don’t wonder about it. Everybody does, don’t they? Question if it could possibly be as good as what you’ve already had.”

“I … I don’t … I mean …” 

He was floundering around for words, feeling more stupid by the minute. He didn’t really want to talk about this but he couldn’t work out how to stop Charles. He knew Charles was still staring at him, staring far too intently. Why couldn’t he think of something to _say?_

“It’s just as good,” Charles murmured. “Trust me, Hank. Why let fear get in the way of something wonderful?”

He had reached out and taken Hank’s hand, the way he had been doing throughout this trip, only it felt different now. His hand was hot and Hank felt as though the heat was going up his arm. His mouth was suddenly incredibly dry.

“You’re quite beautiful.” Charles’s voice was soft, beguiling. “I’d be very happy to show you, if you’d like. Would you like that, Hank? To have someone touch you, hold you? I think you would. It’s been a while, wasn’t it? I think you’d have such fun … ”

He had leaned closer as he spoke and Hank suddenly realised how close they were. Charles’s mouth was so close, he could feel his breath on his face and his fingers were tracing patterns on Hank’s skin and oh God, what the hell was he doing?

“I, I have to … ”

He yanked himself back, almost knocking his chair over. Charles looked at him, raising his eyebrow slightly. His lip quirked and Hank was sure it was a look of distain.

“Coward.”

Hank could feel himself flushing. The word wound its way through his insides, cold and wretched. 

“I have to go,” he said and almost ran out. He didn’t care about the rest of the food, he didn’t even care if Charles had enough money with him to cover the bill. He just needed to be away, away from Charles’s all-too intense eyes and his hands and all the people that could have been staring at them …

No. No, no, no.

Oh God, why had Charles done that? Why had Charles said those things? Why hadn’t Hank pulled away quicker or laughed it off or done something better, why hadn’t he done something better …

He made his way back to the hotel room and took a shower because it was the only thing he could think of to cool his head. He kept replaying the incident, over and over, feeling worse and worse about it each time. He should have done something different. He should have been more sensible.

He put himself to bed, not wanting to seem as though he was awake when Charles got back. He didn’t want to talk any more, not about any of this. He wanted to stop feeling all together, just to pretend that it had never happened.

When Charles came in, Hank pressed his face to the pillow and kept his breathing as deep as he could manage. He listened to Charles quietly getting ready for bed and the feel of the bed moving as Charles carefully lifted himself into place.

Perhaps it was Hank’s imagination but he was pretty certain that Charles was holding himself further away from Hank than he had before. The gulf between them felt huge, as though they were both pressing to the edges of the bed.

It was probably better that way.

*

 **Day Eight**.

Charles woke with a throbbing in his temples and a miserable idea that he had done something humiliating the night before.

Not that he was quite sure what it was at this current moment. It would come back to him, he knew – he never experienced blackouts, just brief protective blankness until he finally forced himself to look at his actions. Which he sometimes liked to do when his head wasn’t feeling quite so much like it was going to break into tiny pieces.

He sat up with a small groan, pressing his fingers to his forehead. No more drinking. A lie he told himself on a regular basis.

“Do … do you need some painkillers?”

He blinked and focused on Hank’s anxious face. Charles tried to smile reassuringly but knew it was a little rocky.

“Yes, please. And water, lots of water.”

Hank nodded and hurried off. Charles closed his eyes for a moment, wondering why he was feeling faintly guilty about asking Hank for anything.

The blankness faded and he groaned. Oh _no_. Oh, how could he have been so _stupid?_

“Here,” Hank said softly, pressing a glass into his hand. “Are you really going to be okay? Do you need something else? Should I see if there’s a doctor?”

“I don’t need a doctor. You’ve not spent too much time around people with hangovers, have you? Don’t worry, I’m just sore and well deserved too. Hank, I am very, very sorry.”

Hank looked at him, almost comically confused. Charles felt a stab of guilt.

“Oh … it’s all right,” Hank said. “Please don’t worry, it was really nothing, you were just drunk.”

A part of Charles wanted to latch onto that instantly, to smile and laugh as though they were quite safe and everything was over. But he looked at Hank’s face and thought about Hank’s wounded expression last night and knew that he couldn’t. Knew that it wasn’t fair.

“I was drunk and unpleasant, Hank, and I deliberately tried to make you uncomfortable. If someone apologises to you when you know they’re in the wrong, don’t tell them that it’s just all right and you didn’t need the apology. If you want to accept it, you can and I’ll be glad if you do but if you’re still angry or hurt, you shouldn’t just wave it off.”

Hank stared at him with apparent uncertainty, as though waiting for some sort of punchline. Charles looked back at him, wishing his head would stop throbbing.

“You … you didn’t really do anything too awful,” Hank said at last. “I’m … it’s all right. Really. Please don’t worry about it.”

“Then thank you for your graciousness,” Charles said, offering a small smile. “You’re a good man, Hank.”

Hank ducked his head sheepishly and mumbled something incoherent. Charles shook his head.

“Oh Hank, we really are going to have to get you more used to accept compliments. It’s a good habit, you know.”

“I, I know. I just … don’t like it.”

“Well, that’s silly,” Charles said firmly. “There are too many people in this world who’ll tell you all the things they thing are wrong with you, you should enjoy it when people tell you what’s right.”

“What if they’re just being nice?”

“Let them be nice! Oh, always be wary if they’re hoping to be nice to get something out of you but that’s a different thing all together.”

Hank still wasn’t looking at him. Charles suddenly wondered if he was touching on something that he didn’t understand. He barely knew Hank after all, there were all sorts of things that Hank could have in his past that might be better unexamined. Charles had plenty of those of his own, after all. It had been oddly easy to forget that they weren’t really friends – weren’t anything to do with each other, in fact. They were just play-acting a relationship for the sake of a holiday. That was all.

“You’re a good guy,” Hank said suddenly.

“I think it’s quite clear that I am not, Hank.”

Hank gave a small laugh.

“Weren’t you just saying people should accept compliments?”

Charles tried to smile. Tried to laugh at himself. It wasn’t easy. Not when he knew what he knew.

That Hank was quite, quite wrong.

*

 **Day Eight/Day Nine**.

Charles was being terribly, terribly nice to him.

A part of Hank was really enjoying the attention and affection. It was nice to have someone make a fuss of him – it didn’t happen all that often. But at the same time, a part of him felt uncomfortable about it. Felt as though he didn’t deserve all of Charles’s niceness and warmth … or that it was faked because Charles was feeling guilty about his strange behaviour the night before.

He wasn’t sure why that bothered him so much. Perhaps because he just wanted to forget it and it would be easier to forget it if everything felt normal between them – or at least as normal as their strange friendship could be. But it didn’t feel like that. It felt uncomfortable, awkward and Hank hated it.

He couldn’t work out what to do about it though. He’d told Charles it was all right and Charles seemed to have accepted that but still, there was this odd atmosphere between them and Hank was beginning to think that maybe they simply couldn’t shake it off. Because even though he wanted to forget about it, he found he was lingering on the night’s events too. Charles’s intense face, his hand hot on Hank’s, his soft words …

_No, no, don’t, just forget it, he was just trying to rattle you because he was drunk …_

But why had Charles chosen that to rattle him? Why had Charles sounded so sure, so … so convincing? Why hadn’t Hank been able to laugh it off, pull his hand back and tell Charles not to be so silly?

 _It doesn’t matter. Forget it. Forget it_.

Charles seemed to sense his mood because he seemed to be trying extremely hard to cheer Hank up and looking slightly worried that he couldn’t. Hank supposed he was blaming himself and really didn’t want him to but at the same time, couldn’t really think of anything to say to make it all right. Because it wasn’t quite all right. Not really. 

Charles insisted on taking him out for a meal that night and paying for it too. He also didn’t touch any alcohol which Hank was almost sorry about. He wouldn’t have minded a drink himself.

All in all, it was a relief when the day ended. Hank got into bed eagerly, hoping that another night might make the whole thing fade to nothing. Charles would feel less guilty and would be more himself and that would help Hank and they could both just … be normal.

The uneasy day gave him uneasy dreams. He was in his parents house, trying to find something but he wasn’t quite sure what. For some reason, there seemed to be a party going on and Hank had a feeling he wasn’t invited. Charles was there, talking to Warren animatedly but neither of them even looked at Hank as he hurried by, trying to remember where he’d left _it_. 

He woke up slowly, feeling heavy and like he hadn’t really rested. It wasn’t so bad though because he was burrowed against Trish’s warm body, his face pressed into her neck and she was curled back against him. He loved waking up like this, all cuddled up and she loved it too. They’d long had an agreement that it was okay to wake her up by touching her and he began to sleepily kiss her neck, tracing his fingers down her side, enjoying her soft skin. God she was warm, he had missed that warmth so much and his body was stirring, he wanted her, he wanted so much …

He pressed closer and felt her press back against him, heard a soft sigh. Her hair was soft against his face and he reached up to cup her breasts – 

Except his hands slid against an undeniably flat chest. And ‘Trish’ gave a funny cry and squirmed against him, only it wasn’t Trish, it was _Charles_.

“Oh _God!_ ”

He jerked back, tangling with the sheets. Charles twisted round to look at him, blinking sleepy eyes, lips slightly parted in shock …

“Hank …?”

“I’m sorry!” Hank cried. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I thought you were Trish, oh God, I’m so, I’m so sorry!”

“Hank, calm down, it’s all right … ”

Except it _wasn’t_ all right because he was still aroused, his body felt hot and ready and no, no, _no_ …

“I’m so sorry!” he gasped out again and then before Charles could say anything, he had scrambled out of the bed and into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and pressing his head in his hands. Oh God. Oh God, what had he _done?_

_I thought he was Trish. I thought he was Trish, it’s all right, he’ll understand, I made a mistake …_

He slumped down onto the floor, shaking. He was still aroused and he kept thinking about how Charles had felt, the soft hair against his cheek and Charles curved trustingly against him and that moment of scraping his hand across a smooth, planed chest …

_I don’t want this …_

But it was difficult to really believe that when all he could think about was Charles’s body and that glimpse of Charles’s parted lips. Would it feel good to kiss Charles properly? Would it feel good to hold Charles against him, touch that chest again, trace his hands over Charles’s very different hips?

Would it feel good if Charles were to touch _him?_

Hank closed his eyes and slid his hand into his pyjama bottoms. He told himself that he wasn’t thinking of Charles. That he wasn’t going to fantasise about Charles’s mouth and hands or the feel of his body or the way he smelt and tasted …

He had to muffled a moan when he came.

*

Charles lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He supposed that he ought to lift himself into his chair and go after Hank, try to reassure him. But Hank seemed like he needed a moment – and Charles rather needed one himself.

The doctors had tried to talk to him about sex, of course. They’d given him things to read and gentle advice, all of which Charles had spent very little time on. In the early days, he hadn’t been able to think of anything less appealing than exploring his new body and finding new erogenous zones as one of the leaflets had so helpfully put it. Even in more recent times, he hadn’t really wanted much. He’d vaguely attempted masturbation but it hadn’t really felt like much worth writing home about.

But Hank’s mouth against the back of his neck, his hand pressing against Charles’s chest …

It was the first erection he’d had in over a year. And his body was still tingling.

Slowly, he reached up and brushed his own fingers down the side of his neck. It made him shiver. When he lowered his hand to his chest to play with a nipple, he had to bite back a gasp. God, that was … intense. _Really_ intense. It occurred to him that he could probably make himself come just by playing with them enough, no other touching required.

He swallowed, wondering how long Hank would be. It would be pretty awful if Hank back in to find Charles touching himself. He was probably freaking out anyway but the implication that Charles might have enjoyed it …

With a weary sigh, he slowly began to get himself up, deciding it would be easier for Hank if he wasn’t still lying in bed. He wondered what Hank was going to say, what Hank was going to do. 

It was about ten more minutes before Hank walked out of the bathroom. He was very pale and didn’t even try to meet Charles’s eyes.

“I – ”

“Hank, it doesn’t matter,” Charles interrupted. “Please, just forget about it.”

Hank shrugged, still not looking at him. He looked utterly miserable. Charles smiled at him.

“Hank, really. Somebody accidentally giving me a friendly cuddle is hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Please don’t feel bad about it.”

“I … I suppose so,” Hank muttered.

“I know so,” Charles said firmly. “Now, why don’t I go to the bathroom, both of us get dressed and head off to do something fun?”

“Actually … actually, I wanted to … to go off on my own today, thank you.”

“Oh.”

It hurt. Charles felt stupid for letting it hurt. He and Hank had discussed going off and doing things alone, quite often. They weren’t joined at the hip, they weren’t really anything. But they’d been spending so much time together and now suddenly, everything was going wrong and Charles didn’t want it to.

“So I’ll … I’ll see you later,” Hank mumbled.

“Sure,” Charles said. “Have a good time.”

He went into the bathroom because he didn’t want to embarrass himself by saying anything ridiculous. Hank had every right to go off on his own. Hell, Hank had every right to be upset by what had happened, it was hardly surprising. But Charles didn’t want him to be upset. Charles didn’t want Hank to go off on his own.

_Oh you bloody fool._

Getting involved with a straight guy. More than involved, he could admit right now that his feelings towards Hank were a real crush. And Hank clearly didn’t feel remotely similar.

Or he did but was so desperately closeted that the whole thing was freaking him out.

Charles wasn’t really sure which was worse. But all he knew was that neither of them was going to get him what he actually wanted.

When he finally left the bathroom, Hank was long gone. Charles didn’t know what to do with himself. There were all sorts of places he could go, he didn’t _need_ Hank … but he felt oddly lost. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. He couldn’t stop _wanting_ what had happened.

In the end, he sat in the sun and drank. It was stupid, of course but the bleak mood was on him and he just didn’t want to feel. He flirted vaguely with anybody who he felt like flirting with but his mind was on Hank. Where we he? What was he doing? Why couldn’t he just be here …?

He ate in their room – if you could really call it eating, he ended up leaving most of it – and sat, waiting, his mind churning. He wished it would stop. He was thinking about too many things, things that didn’t thinking about, like Raven and Erik, awful, bloody Erik and Charles missed him too, fuck …

He was almost surprised when the door opened and Hank came in. He looked odd – grubby and dishevelled. He blinked at Charles as though he didn’t really expect Charles to be there and Charles realised that Hank had been drinking too.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I … ” Hank looked confused. “Not … not really. I mean … I don’t … ”

“I see you’re a coherent drunk.”

Hank looked away from him, shaking his head a little. He moved over to a cupboard and began getting out spare pillows and Charles felt a sting of anger.

“Really, Hank? Is that so very important? That we never touch again?”

“Charles, please,” Hank mumbled, gripping one of the pillows. “I just … I don’t want … ”

“To accidentally kiss me again? To accidentally touch me?”

“Please … ” Hank said again, his voice weak. 

“Please what? Stop talking about it? Stop reminding you how it felt? Because it felt good, didn’t it? It felt _nice_ , being that close. And now you want to pretend that it never happened because of what? Some stupid bit of repression?”

“N-no, no, it … Charles …” 

Charles moved himself closer, looking up at Hank as he did. Hank’s cheeks were a dull red and he was shaking very slightly. 

“Why are you doing this?” Charles asked. “Why are you pretending?”

“Not … not pretending, I’m … it … ”

Charles reached out and caught hold of the hand that wasn’t still clutching a pillow. Hank gave a tiny gasp and his fingers twitched but he didn’t pull away. Charles felt his stomach clench. He tugged on the hand gently and Hank dropped to his knees with a thud. Kneeling upright, he was only a little shorter than Charles was in his chair. He was shaking slightly and then Charles touched his cheek with his other hand, he closed his eyes, his lips parting very slightly.

God, he was gorgeous.

Charles kissed him. He meant it to be gentle but somehow, it was clumsy, hard, desperate. Hank moaned into his mouth and started kissing back and fuck, yes, this was what Charles wanted, this was what he’d _missed_ and Hank’s mouth was hot and wet and wonderful and Charles wanted to keep kissing, he wanted to _devour_ …

He ran his fingers through Hank’s hair and was rewarded with another moan. Hank reached up to clutch his arms and Charles noted vaguely just how strong Hank was. He could probably lift Charles right out of the wheelchair if he wanted to and the idea made Charles shiver a bit. He stroked that hair again and left Hank’s mouth to nuzzle at his neck, licking a stripe down Hank’s neck. He was rewarded with a whimper and fingers digging into his arms.

“Good, isn’t it?” he whispered against Hank’s throat and smiled when Hank choked out “Yes!” He started sucking at Hank’s neck and Hank gave another groan, trying to move against him. He was beautiful and this was wonderful and Charles _wanted_.

Hank thrust his hands under his shirt. His hands were hot and large and he was groping in a gloriously fumbled way that made Charles shiver.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered and Hank gave a shuddery moan.

“Oh, we shouldn’t, I really think we shouldn’t … ”

“Why?” Charles asked, stroking his hands down Hank’s back. “Why not go all the way? Why stop this experiment now, Hank?”

Hank yanked back from him as though Charles’s hands were burning him. His eyes were wide behind his glasses and he shook his head fiercely.

“N-no! No, this isn’t … don’t you call it that!”

“Why not?” Charles said, a little bewildered by the level of anger. “What else is this, Hank? It’s all right? People experiment all the time.”

“That’s what you think this is?! Just, just fucking around?!”

It was the first time he’d heard Hank swear and it was surprisingly vitriolic. Charles resisted the urge to move himself back slightly as Hank jerked to his feet.

“Isn’t it?” he said. “You’ve been freaking out about being straight haven’t you? So we’re experimenting.”

“I’ve not … you don’t know a fucking _thing_ and I don’t … don’t you dare treat me like I’m a fucking _kid!_ ”

He was crimson in the face now and twitching slightly. Charles felt a stab of frustration. This hadn’t been what he wanted, not at all and he didn’t understand why they were somehow fighting when only moments ago, they’d been kissing.

“You’re behaving like a fucking kid right now,” he said.

Hank punched the wall. The sound seemed explosively loud and Charles jerked back without meaning to, staring up at Hank in shock. Hank stared back, his own face now paling.

“Oh … oh God, no, I’m … I’m sorry, I’m … ”

“It’s all right,” Charles said. “It’s … just take a minute. It’s fine.”

Hank turned away from him, hugging his fists to his chest. Charles noticed that there was a very slight dent in the wall and felt queasy. Hank was strong and he’d never realised exactly _how_ strong.

“So sorry,” Hank whispered.

“It’s fine. Is your hand all right?”

“It … stinging.”

“Let’s go into the bathroom and put some cold water on it then.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hank whispered again.

“The wall took it well,” Charles said lightly. “I hope your knuckles did too.”

“How can you not … what if I’d hit _you?_ ”

“Then I’d be extremely angry. But you didn’t hit me, you hit the wall which almost certainly did more harm to you than it did to me. Was it likely that you would hit me?”

“I … don’t know.”

It was an odd answer and decidedly unsettling. Charles didn’t comment on it and simply encouraged Hank to move into the bathroom. Hank sat meekly on the edge of the bathtub. He was shaking harder now and flinched a little when Charles took hold of his still clenched fist.

“Can you straighten your fingers? Yes? Okay, that’s good. I think you’ve just bruised yourself. Pass me a flannel, let’s get that sorted out.”

He soaked the flannel in cold water and began to clean the bleeding knuckles. Hank flinched slightly but stayed still.

“I’m sorry,” he said for the fourth time. “I, I don’t let myself get like this, I don’t … I keep it under control, I do, it was just … ”

“Just what?” Charles asked, keeping his voice very calm. Hank gave a shuddering breath.

“I … remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

Hank’s head slumped as though keeping it up was too much effort. His hand shook in Charles’s but he didn’t pull away.

“When, when I was at school I met … I met this guy, he, we were friends, good friends. We used to work together on projects and it was fun, it was so much fun and I … wanted to be around him a lot. Like all the time. And he liked me too, we … well, we were friends and … good friends. He was a year older than me but it didn’t matter, we’d go round to each others houses, we’d see each other, all that stuff.”

Charles nodded, even though Hank wasn’t looking at him to see. Hank took a shuddery breath and his hand twitched slightly in Charles’s.

“Some … some of the other guys began … began saying stuff. Stupid stuff. And I got all embarrassed but Warren, Warren was … he laughed about it at first. Said it was dumb and that he didn’t care and that he liked me and it … it was nice. And then he said he wouldn’t even care if it was true and that he really liked me and … and that we could experiment if … if I wanted to.”

His hand was trembling violently now. Charles wrapped the cold flannel around his hand as carefully as he could, then took hold of Hank’s hand steadily.

“It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me.”

But Hank shook his head fiercely. It seemed the act to telling the story was helping him and Charles knew that he wasn’t going to try and stop him if that was the case.

“We, we kissed a few times. It was nice, I liked it but we both kept telling each other it was just an experiment to see what it was like, just … something fun, a game. And that made it okay and not weird and we were still friends but … but the others kept saying stuff and then one day, I was coming to meet Warren and … and there were these guys from his year. And they were bullying him, I could tell. And Warren said he didn’t care but I think he did, I think … more than he wanted to admit. And one day, it … I was trying to protect him, I was trying to help but … but I … I got … mad.”

He shuddered. Charles didn’t say anything. He gripped Hank’s wrist gently and lifted the flannel to see if the knuckles were looking better.

“I got strong in puberty,” Hank whispered. “I don’t … they didn’t really know. I didn’t like sports, used to hide and … and everyone thought I was a geek so I just … I just went unnoticed. Only I was so angry and he hit me back so I just … I k-kept hitting him and he went over and I didn’t stop until someone stopped me … ”

He swallowed and rubbed his face with the hand that Charles wasn’t gripping.

“It was awful. They, they thought he was going to die, they thought … they were saying that I was a _murderer_ and I hadn’t meant it, I hadn’t … and Warren’s parents wouldn’t even let me _talk_ to him, I wasn’t allowed … wasn’t allowed anything and I didn’t _mean_ it!”

“Stop,” Charles said gently, leaning forward and pressing his hand against Hank’s cheek. “Calm down. It’s all right. It’s over now, you don’t have to relive it. It’s over. You survived. You survived.”

The words made him feel cold inside, cold and hollow. He didn’t want to dwell on why. Hank looked at him, swallowing.

“He was all right. In the end, he was fine and … and everything was fine. But it was … my parents were so angry, so ashamed. Everyone avoided me. I knew I’d … I’d ruined things and … and it was … I didn’t know what to do.”

“So you just learned,” Charles said quietly. “And you stopped arguing in case you got angry and ended up fighting with them.”

Hank nodded. 

“Went to university. Met Trish, got a good job ... my parents talk to me on the phone every holiday and on my birthday. They’re proud, I think. They were sorry when Trish and I split up. They liked me to be normal. Sometimes they ask me carefully about my “tempers.” I think they think it’s only a matter of time before I snap.”

His head had slumped over and he looked exhausted. Charles gently removed the flannel and dried Hank’s fingers, then tugged on his hand.

“Come on, Hank. Time to go to bed. It’ll all feel better again the morning.”

“I try never to lose my temper,” Hank mumbled, standing up slowly. “I get angry inside but I remember what I did, what I am … I didn’t mean to get angry, I didn’t … ”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter. Nothing was harmed, not even you. Now go to bed, Hank. We’ll talk more in the morning. You’ll be all right.”

Hank obeyed exhaustedly, squirming out of his clothes and into the bed. Charles tucked him up gently and smoothed his hair until Hank’s eyes closed and his breathing became slow. Only then did Charles move away begin preparing for bed himself.

The hollow feeling inside him hadn’t faded. A lot of things that he’d ignored about Hank made more sense now and he was ashamed that he hadn’t tried harder, had been selfish and not talked about what Hank really wanted. And there were other feelings too, guilt and sadness and shame.

When he got into the bed, he carefully positioned a pillow between them before settling down and closing his eyes, trying to find some part of him that wanted to sleep. 

Trying not to think about what couldn’t be changed.

*

 **Day Ten**.

Hank woke with a dry mouth, a fuzzy head and a vaguely uneasy idea that he might have done something rather stupid before going to bed. When he attempted to sit up, his hand throbbed and his stomach surged.

“Here.”

Charles’s voice was soft. He was already out of bed and dressed and also holding a glass of water in his hands. Hank took it and gratefully sipped, hoping it would stay down. He shouldn’t have drunk so much, how embarrassing …

He choked as the memories bubbled back in no particular order. Oh God. God, he’d really, really done something stupid …

“It’s all right,” Charles said quietly. “Please don’t be embarrassed. I’m ... I don’t think any less of you, Hank. I promise.”

Hank wasn’t quite sure he believed that. How could anybody not think less of him after hearing that story? Trish had made understanding noises when he’d told her but she’d looked shocked and whenever they’d argued, he’d found himself wondering; _does she think I’ll hurt her? Does she’ll think I’ll lose it?_ Wondering if that was what _she_ was thinking. So he’d tried never to argue with her only somehow, that hadn’t worked either …

He looked at his knuckles. They were very slightly swollen and grazed. He remembered Charles trying to soothe them and supposed that they would have been worse if it hadn’t been for that.

“Here, take some painkillers,” Charles said. “Drink the water slowly, it helps more that way. And I’ll make some sugary tea, unless there’s anything that helps you more?”

“I … haven’t had enough hangovers to know,” Hank said, trying to smile. Charles smiled back but there was something a little wrong with his smile too. Maybe Charles wasn’t as relaxed about this as he was pretending to be.

He drank the water slowly, taking deep breaths between sips. The painkillers seemed to help and when he got out of bed, he felt shaky but not really like he’d be sick any longer. After a quick shower, he felt almost himself – if it weren’t for the embarrassment.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Charles asked. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Not really,” Hank said, sipping at the tea. “Thank you though. You don’t have to stay, you can do anything that you want, I … it’s not your fault I got stupidly drunk.”

“If you don’t mind me staying, I’d rather stay.”

Hank looked at him, a little puzzled. Charles still looking oddly uncomfortable and wasn’t meeting Hank’s eyes. But he didn’t have to stay …

“It’s fine,” he said. “I … I think I should – ”

“I don’t want you to apologise,” Charles interrupted quietly. “I don’t want you to … I know that I was … I’m glad that you told me things last night, I’m glad to know and I don’t think any less of you. You … may not believe that at first but I’d … I’d like to try and explain something and you might understand better then.”

Hank took a moment to try and make sense of Charles’s words. Charles sounded very uneasy indeed and there was obviously something bothering him although apparently not what Hank would have expected.

“You can tell me anything,” he said. “After all, you listened to me!”

Charles gave a small laugh but it was shaky. He looked pale and was twisting his fingers together.

“I … I had an odd childhood. My father died when I was quite young and my mother didn’t handle it well, she drank a lot and she wasn’t really interested a child. She adopted a little girl when I was twelve – I don’t know why, she wasn’t any more interested in Raven than she was in me. I loved Raven instantly, she was … we gave each other all the love we’d been denied. We became so close so quickly … but you don’t need to hear all about that, it doesn’t really matter. I just wanted you to know some of this because it helps explain things a little. Raven was abandoned as a child and it damaged her, as any child might well be. She never believed in herself, she never … she thought she was so ugly, so worthless. And I never seemed to say the right things because I didn’t understand, I wasn’t … that didn’t scare me, you see. And I could see her and I knew she was beautiful so I didn’t help, I just argued. I fucked up. I can see it now but at the time … no. I knew I was right so it didn’t matter what she said because _I_ was the one who was right. I’m an arrogant son of a bitch sometimes. You might have noticed.”

He sounded like he wanted to make Hank laugh but Hank didn’t. He just stared at Charles, waiting. Charles swallowed and rubbed his face.

“Mother died just before I went to university and so I took Raven with me. It went well, for the most part, our various problems not withstanding. I got a good degree, I made friends – not close friends but plenty of casual acquaintances and drinking buddies and sex partners. I wasn’t very good at forming lasting relationships but I didn’t really see it then. Didn’t see a lot of things … and then I met Erik.”

Hank blinked.

“Erik?”

“Oh yes,” Charles said, a small twisted smile appearing on his lips. “I met Erik before Raven did. And I had sex with him before she did too.”

“Oh,” Hank said. He could feel himself blushing very slightly and felt stupid for it. Charles gave a small laugh.

“She didn’t meet him then. We weren’t actually living together at that time, Raven was getting a university degree of her own. Erik and I … it was intense. We were on opposite sides of all sorts of things, we used to argue ourselves hoarse – and yet we had this _connection_. He knew me better than almost anybody … perhaps better than I knew myself at that point. It’s why we ended up … I say “breaking up” but we weren’t dating, not exactly, neither of us was quite capable of making that commitment, despite the fact that we were nearly inseparable. Erik was angry with me, angry at my various stupidities. And I was angry with him too because he never listened, he always thought he knew best … oh God, it’s all so … it doesn’t matter. Not now.”

Hank wondered if he ought to do something. Say something or touch Charles’s shoulder or just … do something. In the end, he didn’t. He stayed still watching Charles’s face. Charles’s expression was bleak and although he was still trying to smile, his mouth trembled.

“We “broke up” and Erik left and I missed him far more than I’d ever expected to. I began to realise that I’d been in love with him, that I should have told Erik, that I should have … so many things that I should have done and didn’t and I’d been so stupid. I tried to get in contact with him but I couldn’t. I told myself I’d fix it though. That it wasn’t too late. And then Raven said she was coming home and she was bringing her new boyfriend with her.”

“Erik,” Hank said quietly.

“Erik,” Charles said. “It was … one of the worst moments of my life at that point. I never … I never suspected for a minute. She hadn’t told me his name, you see but even if she had, well, Erik’s common enough. And he didn’t know either, he went green when he laid eyes on me, Raven thought he was going to faint!”

He laughed but he didn’t sound like he really thought it was very funny. Hank bit his lip.

“It was awful,” Charles said flatly. “We didn’t tell Raven – we should have done, we really should but Raven was so _happy_. She’d been telling me that she’d met this man that was really helping her with her problems, that she was beginning to believe in herself in a way that she never had before. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised, Erik had troubles of his own, he understood Raven in a way I never could. And if she’d known about the relationship we’d shared, she might … I don’t know. I should have trusted her but I told Erik that he wasn’t to tell her, that I wouldn’t tell her and that everything would be fine. Because I, of course, knew absolutely _everything_.”

“And did … did she find out?” Hank asked uncertainly.

“Eventually. But not for a long time. Erik and I … kept up our pretence. We swung between tip-toeing around each other and having the raging arguments that we’d always had, except they were different now. We didn’t know what to do with that spark we still had so we tried to bury it under fights and more fights. Raven couldn’t understand why we didn’t get along, she hated it and then I’d feel guilty for being a shit and I know Erik felt guilty too and we both still wanted each other which made it harder and it was such a stupid, _stupid_ mess!”

He put his head in his hands.

“We had gone out together, a meal, a movie. Erik and I were fighting over it as we drove home, it was _pathetic_ but we were screaming at each other like it _mattered_ and Raven was trying to calm us down … I don’t really remember what happened next. The accident report promises that it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t have done anything at all even if I hadn’t been shouting but ... well. The lorry came out of nowhere, slammed straight into us. The car turned over three times, it was probably quite impressive. We landed upside down. Raven and Erik were still conscious but I was knocked out and … and then it caught fire.

Erik pulled me out, apparently. He was burned in the process, not badly but he was hurt because of me. But … I was hurt too. We’ll never know if it was … if it had already happened or if it was when Erik moved me. Not that it’s his fault, I won’t have … he saved my life. He saved my life and I was always glad of that, even … even right after.”

His shoulders were shaking violently now. Hank felt slightly sick.

“Charles … ”

“He told Raven at that point,” Charles said, his voice wretched. “I’m not surprised, it was all so … they were both so scared, they thought I’d die and he couldn’t keep it in, it all came out and Raven was … she was so _hurt_ that we hadn’t trusted her, she wondered if … and we never did, we never _would_ but I can’t blame her for being … everything was really, really fucked up and we … she wanted to help me anyway but I threw her out, her and Erik, I could live with them any more, even if it meant being alone. And that didn’t help anything, of course but … but I couldn’t think of anything else.”

Hank touched him now, putting his hand on Charles’s shoulder. Charles didn’t move away. He continued to shake, swallowing hard.

“It … well, you saw us together. We don’t know how to be around each other, we don’t know how to … cope. There’s … too much guilt and shame and … and I’ve been trying to deal with this too and I … I’ve had too much time to see myself for what I always was. What I am.”

“No!” Hank said fiercely. “Charles, _no!_ You’re not right, you’d not seeing yourself properly. I’ve … you’re a good person, you’re funny and kind and you care about people. It, you made mistakes, yes but that doesn’t mean that you’re so bad as all that.”

Charles gave wet sort of laugh. He wasn’t crying, not really but his eyes were damp. Hank didn’t want him to cry. He reached up and stroked Charles’s cheek gently.

“Please don’t think of yourself like that.”

“Oh Hank, you’re too nice,” Charles said. “I don’t know … I don’t know how you can be. I’ve been a bastard to you.”

“Not really,” Hank said automatically. Charles gave a disbelieving snort and Hank paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before he spoke again.

“Well, all right. Sometimes you have been. You’re … you can be a bit arrogant and annoying and you always think you know best and you drink too much but that doesn’t make you a bastard. That doesn’t … I still like you. Lots of people like you. And you … you could change some of that. If you wanted to.”

Charles was staring at him and Hank couldn’t decide what the expression meant. Had he just made Charles furious? He didn’t want Charles to be furious, he didn’t want them to fight, he didn’t want to risk getting angry …

He swallowed at the thought. He’d never quite thought of it like that before. But now he had, he knew that it was true, it was always what he did. Avoided confrontation because it might lead to something else. Even if in the end, that something else might be better than what he already had. 

He could be angry without being _angry_. Often was, in fact, he just didn’t think of it that way.

“Oh Hank,” Charles said suddenly. “You’re a good man. You’re such a good man. I was so lucky to meet you.”

Hank shrugged, not sure what to say. Charles reached out and touched his face, then smoothed his hair gently. The touch made Hank tingle but before he could say or do anything, Charles withdrew.

“Sorry. Sorry, that’s not … I know. Oh God, let’s get out, I can’t … I mean, you can do anything you want, sorry, I’m … oh hell, I’m talking rubbish, aren’t I?”

“It’s fine,” Hank said. “I’d like to get out too, I think fresh air will help my headache!”

“God, sorry, I forgot it must be hurting. Do you feel up to finding something to eat?”

Hank nodded, suddenly realising he was starving. Charles was looking at him uneasily and Hank realised that Charles was afraid that Hank wouldn’t want them to go out together. That Charles was expecting Hank to think less of him now. Or maybe something else, maybe something … 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s find a café together. I bet you could use a coffee!”

Charles’s face relaxed slightly. He smiled.

“Oh, hell yeah.”

Hank tried not to look at him too much as they headed out together. He felt that things had changed, deeply and irrevocably but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all yet. It would probably make more sense when he was less hungover. When he’d had time to think.

He intended to think about it all very, very carefully before he came to any decision.

*

 **Day Twelve**.

Charles stared at the paper in front of him and tried not to feel petulant.

“I don’t know what to _write_.”

“You don’t _have_ to write anything,” Hank said, not looking up from the book he was reading. “It was your idea to write. If you’ve changed your mind, that’s okay.”

“You’d think I was being childish though.”

“Don’t bring me into this. I’m reading. Very interesting book about alternate fuel sources.”

Charles rolled his eyes but Hank was carefully not looking up so didn’t see. Charles resisted the urge to push further. He knew that really _would_ be childish and that was something he wanted to avoid. He was trying to be better at that.

He stared at the paper again. It was stupid that this was so hard. It was just a letter. He’d written letters to Raven all the time back when she’d been at university. He’d been _good_ at writing letters. How could he not know how to start now?

Well, all right. Obviously he didn’t know how to start because so much had happened and because he was embarrassed. No more lies. No more self-deception. He was scared of writing. Scared that it was too late. Scared that he’d just make a mess of everything again.

Hank didn’t seem to think that he would. When he’d first said that he thought he should write to Raven, Hank had smiled and said he thought it was a good idea. He’d offered to leave and let Charles write on his own but Charles had said it wasn’t necessary. Truth was, it was much easier with Hank. Hank was currently a good reminder of how much he wanted to change about himself. A spur to try and do better.

“Hank?”

“Hmm?”

“Please help me.”

Hank looked up from his book, his expression thoughtful. 

“Why don’t you just write about what we’ve been doing?” he said gently. “Start there. You don’t have to write an epic confession or apology or anything, just write her a proper letter about all the fun that we’ve had. That’s all you have to do. Maybe when you’ve done that, you’ll want to say something else.”

“Okay,” Charles said. “Okay, I … I can do that.”

“I know you can.”

Hank went back to his book and Charles looked at the paper again. Hank was right. You couldn’t fix everything all at once. It was stupid to think that he could. But he could at least _start_.

 _Dear Raven_ he wrote and then paused, took a deep breath and added _and Erik_ before continuing. He wrote about the places that they had visited, the silly events that had happened. He found it was surprisingly easy to start adding in little jokes, amusements, references to things he and Raven had done a long time ago that he knew she would find funny. He found himself almost enjoying it.

_As you can probably tell, the holiday has made me feel a lot better about all sorts of things. I’ve been missing you – more than I realised. Perhaps when I come home, we could have that dinner together, talk about things. There’s a lot I have to tell you and I’m sure there’s a lot you’d like to tell me too. I wasn’t ready to listen before but I am now. I love you, little sister._

He looked at the letter after finishing it and then folded it up and put it carefully into the envelope. 

“All right, Hank. I’m done.”

Hank looked up and grinned at him. His smile was so infectious that Charles couldn’t help grinning back. He was going to miss Hank so much when this was over. Oh, he was sure they _could_ stay friends but it would be difficult with his stupid crush and although Hank seemed to have handled what had happened between them, Charles suspected it was still lingering. He hadn’t dared ask. It seemed rude and anyway, what business was it of his now? They were friends, nothing else.

Even if Charles rather wished they could be something else.

*

 **Day Fourteen**.

It hit Hank that he was running out of time and he didn’t like it.

Tomorrow, he and Charles would be flying home and there was a possibility that they might never actually speak again. Even if they didn’t, Hank was sure that they were slip back into their old lives, maybe exchange Christmas cards and friendly chats occasionally – and Hank wasn’t ready for that.

He didn’t _want_ to slip back into his old life. He didn’t _want_ to just have Charles move out of his life. He _liked_ Charles.

More than liked.

Charles was being so careful about things between them. He was trying to the best that he could be and Hank appreciated that – but he was also very aware that he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. About how it had felt. 

About how if he went home, there was a strong chance that he simply wouldn’t ever dare think about it ever again. And he didn’t want that. He waned to try.

Except that he didn’t seem able to summon up the tiniest bit of courage and tell Charles that. Every time he’d tried, the words had got stuck in his throat. He was just too embarrassed to say them, evidently.

So he would have to try something else.

Charles was fidgeting in his wheelchair and looking slightly pained. He had done this before throughout the holiday and Hank knew what it meant now.

“Your back’s bothering you?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, just twinges. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“How … how about a massage?”

Charles looked at him, then shrugged.

“Sure but where will I get one from?”

“Well, me,” Hank said, hoping that he wasn’t blushing one of his stupid blushes. “I’m actually pretty good. At least, Trish always used to say so.”

It wasn’t a lie. Trish _had_ always praised him for his massages. When she’d mentioned that she liked them, Hank had done his usual thing and read up on massages to make sure that he could do them well. Trish had raved over his hands and Hank had always been quite proud of himself.

“If you don’t mind, that might be great,” Charles said. “The flight tomorrow will be a bit of a pain, it’ll be nice to be loosened up before hand.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded. Come on, let’s … go back to the room and … I’ll try my hands.”

His stomach was squirming with a combination of nerves and excitement. Charles might reject him. He was okay with that. Well, he wasn’t but at the same time, that could happen and if it did, well, it was the last day. They’d probably say their goodbyes and part rather embarrassed but that could happen. Hank wasn’t going to let this pass him by.

“Shirt on or off?” Charles asked, grinning at him.

“Off,” Hank said firmly. “Doesn’t work as well with on.”

Charles laughed.

“You have this firm voice when you’re about to get down to doing something you know about, you realise that?”

Now Hank couldn’t stop himself blushing and Charles gave a soft laugh. Hank grinned back.

“Just get on the bed and shut up or I’ll just pour cold water on you.”

He tried not to watch with too much interest as Charles took off his shirt. He’d seen him topless a lot on this holiday but this time felt a little different somehow. He let himself look at Charles’s chest, at the shape of it. Let himself wonder how it might feel when you touched it properly and not with a sleepy grope.

Charles lifted himself onto the bed and rolled himself over onto his stomach. Hank took a deep breath, then moved over.

“Just lie back and relax,” he said quietly and then began the massage. Charles gave a little groan almost immediately.

“Oh … yeah, that’s nice. That, right there.”

Hank made a soft noise to show that he’d understood and continued his massage. He tried to remember not to just do the things that Trish had liked. Everyone was different anyway but Charles’s back would almost certainly be far more sensitive. 

He trailed his fingers over the back of Charles’s neck and Charles gave a little twitch. Hank resisted the urge to do it again and went back to his massage, moving over Charles’s shoulders, then lower to the small of the back and back again. He avoided touching the raised pink scar that was just a little beneath. He knew that touching it wouldn’t hurt Charles but he didn’t want to draw Charles’s attention to it.

Charles squirmed a tiny bit and Hank increased pressure. Charles’s skin was pale with freckles on the shoulders. It felt nice to touch. He was enjoying this.

“God, this is good,” Charles groaned and Hank swallowed, trying not to squirm. He increased pressure, just a little and Charles gave a moan that was almost indecent. Hank closed his eyes for a moment, aware that he was getting really aroused. He hoped this worked, he really hoped …

He focused his attention on Charles’s neck and noticed that Charles began to breathe quicker. Hank carried on, no longer really trying to massage, just touching, enjoying, knowing Charles was enjoying too and liking that.

“H-hank … ”

“Hm?”

“Maybe … maybe we should … stop now.”

“Why?” Hank asked, his mouth going dry.

“Just … maybe … I mean …” 

Charles sounded unsure. Hank swallowed.

“I like touching you,” he said, aware that his voice was trembling very slightly. “I … I’m enjoying touching you.”

“Oh,” Charles said. “Oh … _fuck_.”

He lifted himself up slightly on his elbows and turned his head, looking at Hank. Hank moved, stopping his massage so he could get himself into a better position and leaned forward to carefully press a kiss to Charles’s slightly open mouth.

Somehow, even though he’d kissed Charles before – or rather, had had Charles kiss him – he hadn’t really _thought_ about what it felt like. Charles’s mouth was soft and warm and when he moved his lips gently against Hank’s, Hank felt himself shiver. He wanted to kiss more, he wanted to kiss harder, he wanted … 

“Charles?”

Charles gave a very low moan.

“Are you sure, Hank?”

“Yes,” Hank said. “Yes, I really … please, Charles?”

Charles kissed him again, dragging him close, hands coming up to tangle in Hank’s hair. Hank clutched back, trying to wriggle into a more comfortable position. He lost his balance and fell, almost squashing him. Charles gave a breathless laugh and only pulled him closer, his mouth hot and wonderful, tongue touching Hank’s gently at first and then harder, more eagerly, only pulling away to drag Hank’s top off.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Hank blurted as Charles pulled him close again, trying to not to shiver at the feel of Charles’s skin against his.

“Neither do I,” Charles said quietly, his voice shaking slightly. “I haven’t … with my body like this, I mean. Learn it with me?”

“Are … are you scared?” Hank asked because Charles _sounded_ scared and that, that was important, that … he needed to know.

“Yes,” Charles said, looking away for a moment. “Yes, I am.”

Hank kissed his cheek. He kissed the side of Charles’s jaw and the pulse point on his neck.

“It’ll be all right,” he said and realised that it was true. “Don’t worry, Charles. This is going to be wonderful.”

*

Charles propped himself up on pillows, lazily stroking Hank’s sweaty hair.

Hank was dozing against his chest, making little snuffling noises when he breathed. Charles kept looking down at him, not quite able to believe that had happened. 

It hadn’t been perfect. It had been clumsy, even ridiculous sometimes. Neither of them had known quite what was best, there had been a lot of fidgeting and twitching and uncertain questions about where hands and mouths and bodies were best placed. Charles hadn’t realised quite how ticklish some of his newly sensitive areas could be which had held up proceedings while he’d laughed and squirmed. And Hank didn’t know his own body well, was shy and uncertain and hadn’t always said when he wasn’t enjoying something which had been rather upsetting when Charles had realised it.

But it had been _good_. Good and fun and more pleasurable than Charles had imagined it could be, somehow. And when Hank had looked him in the eyes and whispered his name in a tone that was almost _wondering_ , Charles had known that he didn’t want this to be the first and only time.

Hank murmured and nuzzled and Charles traced his fingers gently around his ear. He liked Hank’s ear. It was a good shape. He liked his hair too. And his mouth. And his arms, Hank had good arms.

“Hank?” 

Hank gave a sleepy hum in response. Charles swallowed.

“We … we can do this again, can’t we?”

Hank lifted his head, staring with heavy eyes. Charles looked back, still playing with Hank’s hair. He wondered what he’d do if Hank didn’t want to ever do this again. 

“Do you want to?” Hank sounded shy, almost uncertain.

“Yes,” Charles said instantly. “I want to do that again and more. I want to make it better. I want … I want to … be with you, Hank. I know it’s going to be difficult and we’ll have to work through things and … but I want to.”

He felt strangely exposed, as though he’d laid himself bare. Hank was staring at him with his lovely eyes and Charles resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss him. He wanted to hear Hank’s answer, hear him speak not kiss him or confuse him, not right now.

“I want that too,” Hank said. “I … I’ll be scared. I know I will, when we’re not here. And I … I don’t really know why you’d want me, not when … I mean, I’m not, not really very special and … and you could have anyone, you know.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Charles said simply. “You know that, or will when you think about it a bit more. You’ll have to have patience to put up with me, Hank. I’m … I drink too much and I’m arrogant and pushy and damaged and I don’t know how long it will take to fix that. Maybe I can’t. But I can try.”

Hank paused for a moment and then leaned forward and kissed him. Charles kissed back with a contented shiver. This was something different, something wonderful and he was determined to keep hold of it, if he could.

*

 **Day Fifteen**.

Hank was almost reluctant to get off the plane.

He didn’t want the holiday to end and he was pretty certain Charles didn’t either. They’d spent nearly the whole flight being silly together, whispering and laughing and even holding hands. Hank couldn’t help thinking that arriving home might bring them horribly back to reality. Remind them both that this was crazy, that they were never going to make this work and that it was only going to be a disaster. 

But they couldn’t delay forever. It was silly to think otherwise.

The airport was just as crowded as before and Hank focused on making sure that people didn’t crash into Charles’s wheelchair and collecting their luggage.

They were walking out into the main part of the airport and discussing buying something to eat before heading home when Charles suddenly leaned forward in his seat, his eyes widening.

“ _Raven!_ ”

Hank followed his gaze in time to see Raven leaping forward to throw her arms around Charles’s neck. Charles hugged her back, pressing his face into her shoulder. It was so different from the awkwardness Hank had seen between them before. He almost felt as though he was intruding and he turned his face away a little, pretending that he was very interested in the people around them.

“I got your letter,” he could hear Raven saying. “It … I … you’ll come for dinner tonight, won’t you, both of you?”

“I will, of course,” Charles said. “I, Hank might be busy, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Hank turned and looked into Raven’s face. She was smiling at him, eager and hopeful and he didn’t think it was faked. He smiled back shyly, hoping that he wasn’t blushing.

“I’d, I’d love to. Thank you. If you’re sure it’s not going to be too much trouble.”

“Of course not, silly! Erik’s already there, getting things ready, I was sure that you’d say yes.”

“Such assumptions,” Charles teased. “That’s my little sister.”

“By any chance, did she learn from the best?” Hank asked before he could stop himself. Raven burst out laughing and Charles looked as though he was trying not to grin.

“Hank, that has hurt my feelings. I shall refuse to talk to you through the whole dinner and make everybody feel terribly uncomfortable.”

“Well, at least I’m prepared.” 

“I see you’re used to my brother,” Raven said, still grinning. “How long have you two been together anyway?”

Hank looked at Charles. They hadn’t actually discussed what they were going to say about that. Did Charles want to tell the truth or make up a more palatable lie?

Charles smiled, a little ruefully.

“Mind if we save that story for dinner, Raven? I think I could just a good meal before trying to explain that one!”

Raven laughed.

“Oh Charles, no, what have you done now? I shudder to think. All right, we’ll wait until we get home. Talk to me about the holiday instead, give me details!”

Charles talked quite happily as she took them out to her car. Hank followed, listening, trying not to feel out of place. It made sense that Raven and Charles wanted to talk to each other, that they were excited. They were making up for almost a year of stilted uncertainty, of course they wanted to talk. But he couldn’t help feeling lonely. He hated being on the outside of a group.

 _Don’t be immature. Charles isn’t anybody from school. Raven isn’t either. Let them enjoy themselves. Be a grown-up_.

He took a few deep breaths and tried to relax himself. It wasn’t easy but it helped a little. He even found he felt able to add in few comments about the stories Charles was telling and that helped a little too. Raven laughed and seemed pleased to hear him talk.

Raven’s house was much, much smaller than Charles’s. Hank was pretty sure he saw Charles flinch and knew he was thinking guilty thoughts. He gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and Charles smiled at him, obviously relieved.

Erik was waiting inside. He looked stiff and awkward and nodded at both of them, without showing any real emotion. Charles stiffened slightly in his chair and just nodded back. Raven looked a little upset but didn’t say anything, just carried on chatting and showing Charles around the house. Hank tried not to feel worried. Seeing Erik again, knowing what Charles had said … it was suddenly deeply uncomfortable. By his own admission, Charles had been deeply in love with Erik and Erik had been in love with Charles too. Yes, it was supposed to be over but … but it was strange.

_Don’t be a child. Charles promised there was nothing between them any more. You can’t spend all your time fretting about that._

He took a deep breath, determined to be an adult in this situation. He didn’t want to let Charles down, didn’t want to let himself down. It was bound to be odd right now, he hadn’t met either of these people properly before – but it didn’t mean it was hopeless.

Erik and Raven between them had cooked a rather lovely roast dinner for them to eat which gave Hank some respite in attempting actual conversation. He also noticed that Charles refused any wine, something that obviously pleased Raven, although she tried to hide it. Obviously, she’d been worrying about Charles’s alcohol consumption too. Erik continued to stay very quiet, even when addressed, although he threw a few teasing comments Raven’s way about the state of her cooking. He didn’t say anything to Hank at all – and very little to Charles either. He didn’t even react when Charles told the slightly abridged story of how he and Hank had met, how they had pretended to be married. Raven laughed a lot but Erik’s face stayed bland.

When they’d finished eating, Hank got to his feet quickly.

“I’ll do the washing up,” he offered.

“You don’t have to,” Raven said.

“I’m the guest, my mother would never forgive me if I didn’t insist. If you come in and show me where you keep everything, I’ll even do the drying and tidying!”

Raven laughed and got up, helping him gather the plates. Hank gave Charles one quick glance and nod before leaving. He was sure that Charles would understand what he meant.

“You seem really nice,” Raven said quietly as he filled the sink. “And you’ve helped Charles … you’ve helped him so much.”

“I like him,” Hank said, just as quietly. “He’s a good man.”

Raven didn’t say anything for a moment. When Hank looked at her, he saw that she was biting her lip. Hank wondered what she was thinking. He wasn’t quite sure that he dared ask.

“I know about him and Erik,” he said instead.

She jumped and stared at him, as though Hank had just grown another head. Hank shrugged.

“He told me a lot of stuff while we were away. That was one of the things he told me.”

“Did you handle it well?” Raven asked sounding a little miserable. Hank looked at her and remembered Charles’s babbled story; Erik confessing while Charles was in the hospital.

“It wasn’t the same for me,” he said quietly. 

“No, I suppose not.” 

“Look, I … I can’t … I’ve no idea what any of that was like for you,” Hank said awkwardly. “I know it must still be weird. But there’s still … still time for things to change, to … get better. Charles really wants to be better. He wants things to work.”

Raven didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she put down the glass she was holding and gestured for Hank to follow her. He did, trying to walk as quietly as she was as they headed back to the room where they’d eaten.

Erik was kneeling down and Charles had his arms around him. They were holding each other in total silence, Charles gently petting the back of Erik’s neck. They seemed lost in their own world and Hank swallowed. He wasn’t jealous and yet somehow, he was deeply sad. He heard Raven swallow beside him and then they both backed quietly away, leaving the two men alone for a bit longer.

“Are you all right?” Hank asked once they were back in the kitchen. Raven was biting her lip, rather hard.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m fine. Just … I’d stopped hoping, you know? I’d stopped thinking it would ever get better. I kept waiting for the phone call that Charles was dead or that he’d drunk himself into a coma or … I don’t even know what. I just knew that it was hopeless. Seeing him … more like himself again … ”

She put her hands over her face for a moment, then pushed her hair back and looked at Hank.

“Are you … you must be so strong. Getting involved with this … this freak show.”

She sounded almost challenging. Hank looked at her, taking a deep breath, then another before he felt ready to speak.

“I know what I’m getting myself involved with,” he said quietly. “Charles has talked to me and I talked to him. I’m not perfect. I … I don’t know if I’m very strong. But I’m going to try to be and Charles is too. We’re … we’re probably stronger together, you see.”

He could feel himself blushing, felt a fool for speaking like that. But Raven smiled at him again and her smile was wide and hopeful and then suddenly, she gave him a hug, a quick tight hug with strong arms.

“Come on. Let’s go and interrupt them. They’ve had plenty of time. This is meant to be a dinner party!”

She moved ahead of him, opened the door loudly. Charles and Erik were apart again – in fact, they had a table between them and were playing chess. Raven threw up her hands.

“Oh no, really? How can you both like such a boring game?”

“Chess is fascinating and you are an ignorant peon,” Charles said, not looking up from the board. “Hank, do you play?”

“Sometimes,” Hank said, smiling. “Yes. Sometimes, I play.”

*

 **Day Four Hundred and Fifteen**.

The sunshine was glorious and Charles lifted his face up towards it, closing his eyes and drinking it in. It felt _good_.

“You look like a lizard!” Hank sounded amused. “What are you doing?”

“Sun-basking is a perfectly normal thing to do,” Charles said, grinning and not opening his eyes. “You are jealous because you have to push my chair and can’t enjoy it.”

“I wouldn’t taunt him, Charles. He might abandon you on a beach somewhere.”

Erik’s voice was filled with amusement and Charles knew his smile was widening. He still couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. If someone had told him a year ago that he would go on a holiday with Raven and Erik, he would have laughed in that person’s face.

If they’d then added that he would be with someone that he loved, he might have laughed and then cried.

And yet here they were. There was Raven, sorting out the taxi and here was Erik, laughing at him and here was Hank, standing above him with that grin that he so often wore these days. His family. His wonderful family.

“All right,” Raven said. “Are we ready?”

Charles reached up and took Hank’s hand, squeezing it gently. Hank squeezed back with his strong grip and Charles felt warm.

“Let’s go.”


End file.
